


Getting Comfortable

by SincerelyYourNightmare



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Accidentally hilarious, Attempt at Humor, Gen, Graphic violence is offscreen but I'm being cautious, Morbid Humor, Nevermind it's pretty short anyway, Nick falls in love with his axe, Nick is getting too comfortable so Monroe smacks him down, Some Swearing, The daily grind of the Grimm, The specific allusions to racism as depicted in the show, Think-piece, Wait this is too many spoilers, awkward phonecall, i guess, it's in your face right from the start though so be prepared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SincerelyYourNightmare/pseuds/SincerelyYourNightmare
Summary: “Er, I wanted to, to see that you were okay. This guy was following me to the woods, I think maybe all the way from the precinct. It felt like a larger operation, professional, you know? He didn’t even posture or launch into any accusations like you’d expect from -.”“A Wesen?” Monroe supplied in a mild tone that had alarm bells chiming their own cacophony in Nick’s head.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Getting Comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> This is happening at an indeterminate point in time, hence no mention of Juliet, sorry.

After wiping his axe perfunctorily on the guy’s shirt, Nick glared at the head a few feet to the left for good measure. It was the only blade he had had in his truck and all the crossbows were disassembled for maintenance in his trailer, so there hadn’t been much of a choice when he noticed a car following him to the woods and a glance at the mirror showed him a scaly visage. Nick turned his glare to the axe head, which was only barely holding onto the handle by a frayed piece of old leather. His gaze softened a little when he saw the inscription parallel to the curve of the sharp edge. 

_Decapitare_ , he mused. _Either it was the bastardised Latin name for its wielder or its own name._

He smirked. They had both done their gruesome job today. 

He wiped his own hands on the handily provided towel via forest floor called grass, before digging in his pocket for his phone. As soon as the answering click sounded at the other end of the line, Nick lunged for the reins of the conversation.

“Monroe! You won’t believe what’s only two feet away!” He had barely paused to take a breath when the horse already left his control.

“Is it a beautiful soya cinnamon cappuccino with cashew-cranberry cookies from the bakery that opened just the other day? That’s what I’m craving right now. Nick, you won’t believe the lengths I have to go to, to get a decent coffee and cookies nowadays. Any bakery worth its pastries that tries anything more interesting than an almond croissant every now and again is almost _half_ of Portland away! It’s depressing.”

“Monroe, while listening to your food rants are always educational, I have a slightly _meatier_ problem right now.” 

“Oh. Where is it, then?”

“What? No, I don’t need you here, I just wanted to ask about any scaly activity that you noticed lately.”

“ _Oh_. Well, not that I’ve noticed, no. Then again, I’ve been on a bit of a repair-binge for the last _week_ , you couldn’t _imagine_ the horror I felt at seeing a two hundred year old grandfather clock just mouldering away in an attic; they barely even sold it to me, more like _shoved_ it at me, without the actual shoving because it looked a nudge away from disintegrating –.”

“Monroe, focus. _Skalen_ , yes or no?” 

“ _No_ , Nick, like I _said_ ,” Monroe huffed but there was a cacophony of chimes in the background that signalled midday on his end and he was suitably distracted before Nick could begin to pacify him with promises of cookies. “I’m expecting Rosalie for lunch, she at least _appreciates_ my efforts in the kitchen, unlike another friend of unspecified name. I need her to taste test a new lasagne recipe and I’ll ask.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, whatever. I still don’t understand why _we_ would know, it’s not like we’re integrated in the Wesen underground, despite Rosalie’s shadier days. It’s like you expect – hey wait! Are you being speciesist? Is that what this is? Because we’re Wesen we _must_ know what happens in every corner of Portland’s criminal element? I resent that, Nick, _so_ hard -.”

“Whoa!” Nick hurried to stem the flow despite his embarrassment at actually _not_ knowing why he had called Monroe first. Bud would make more sense; the Eisbiber had an impressive network of informants, even if he didn’t utilise them like he could. Still, it had barely been a decision: more like a reflex. “I had a problem that lost his head and I wanted to make sure you weren’t involved – hurt, I mean, you know what I mean!”

Nick had a feeling he was digging a metaphorical grave that could already fit his ‘meaty problem’ quite comfortably. 

Monroe was suspiciously silent on his end.

“Er, I wanted to, to see that you were okay. This guy was following me to the woods, I think maybe all the way from the precinct. It felt like a larger operation, professional, you know? Like someone hired him. He didn’t even posture or launch into any accusations like you’d expect from -.”

“A Wesen?” Monroe supplied in a mild tone that had alarm bells chiming their own cacophony in Nick’s head. Monroe's mild tone hid a world of emotions. You knew you’d fucked up as Monroe’s friend when he talked to you like he talked to the Jehovah’s Witnesses that came round his neighbourhood every second Saturday of the month like clockwork. 

_Shit, Burkhardt, now's not the time for puns, even internal ones._

“ _What_? Monroe, you have to know I didn’t mean it like that; I was _worried_ , a Skalengeck is no small thing to deal with -.” 

“A _thing_. Right,” Monroe was losing his mild tone in favour of a familiar growl. Oops. That had been a very unfortunate choice of words. “Right, I’m not dealing with this today. Don’t expect to hear from me until you’ve sorted out that speciesist attitude -.”

“- Monroe -.”

“- and until you’ve gotten a better, less _prejudiced_ head on your shoulders -.”

“- Monroe, it was a slip -.”

“- maybe you can steal it from somebody with more sense, you seem to be good at collecting heads. Until then, I won’t be doing you _any_ favours.” 

The dial tone mocked Nick and his stumbling tongue. Shit. This was an unusual level of fail, even for him. 

He tucked the phone back into his pocket and stared at his axe as if he were sharing a baffled look with an equally baffled friend. Remembering the time, he shook himself and got to work. The axe he placed on the passenger side, resting on a towel that had made permanent residency after his first week of Grimm-ness. Grimm-ity? Being a Grimm? Being a Grimm.

The shovel that had made itself similarly comfortable in the boot was tugged out of its hiding space and wielded with vigour. Powered by spite and a need to avoid self-examination, Nick managed to pat the last clod of earth down in under an hour. He was getting good at this and thinking about that did not help him keep an unclouded mind, so he was not thinking about it until he was back at the trailer and relatively safe enough to freak out. 

However defensive and angry he might be, Nick knew when to take it all out of its designated box, and when to tuck it away and be meticulous. Too many murders had been solved by his department, by _Nick_ , when the murderer became lax in their method or tool usage. 

He poured the requisite volume of chemicals onto the blade of the shovel to dissolve any DNA, then hauled out the axe to do the same. He would clean them both properly when he circled round the forest to get to his trailer, Nick decided. It was a necessity of the Grimm life that there be back-up kits (and back-up-back-up kits) for weapon maintenance, ammunition, first aid and not-so-first aid. Nick had a proper surgeon’s toolkit stuffed in a closet in the trailer. Complete with IV. That’s when you know.

Clambering onto his seat, Nick carefully placed the axe back onto the towel and reminded himself to burn the cloth as soon as possible. It already had too much evidence of too many crimes on it, he didn’t know why he had missed that mistake before. His gaze lingered on the intricate carvings – were they carvings if they were on metal? – surrounding the single word on its blade and considered. It had felt right in his hands, the double-sidedness never throwing him off-balance, the swing of it feeling alarmingly natural. 

He hesitated, then patted it softly, acknowledging a mild twinge of shame and stupidity. 

_It’s not sentient, Jesus Christ, Burkhardt. That’s when you fucking know._

His brain was used to making strange leaps of logic; it’s what got him on Homicide. Mythology of every creed had been catapulted into his life of late, which made the name that popped into his head not unexpected. 

Janus; the Roman god of doorways, choices, beginnings and endings. Also, travellers and time. Basically, anything that ended up going one of two ways.

It fit. Either of them really, Nick or the axe.

 _Maybe a little too well_ , Nick thought. _I’ve had far too much cause to think about choices and leading double lives. A patron god might not go amiss._

Jesus, he was indulging in a disgusting amount of self-pity. Shaking it off, Nick started the engine, glanced in the rear view, and halted once more. Shit. The lizard’s car was just off the bend, engine still rumbling. He would have to get rid of it first. 

Nick face-desked his steering wheel as he groaned. With his eyes still closed, he turned off his own motor, and made for the other car. Time to find another conveniently covered ditch or lake to drive this one into. 

Then, he would drive to get vegan cookies, even it took all day to find the perfect bakery.

**Author's Note:**

> Monroe's decapitation burn wrote itself and I laughed so hard that I decided to make the whole thing ridiculous rather than entirely a think-piece. You don't even want to know how many italics html code I had to insert. They're both so _expressive_. Defo one of my favourite TV fantasy duos. 
> 
> I wrote this a year ago and decided to post, both to see if the Grimm fandom was dead, and to get rid of something that was getting edited into oblivion. At some point you have to call it quits, and this one was not going to get any better. It was burning a hole in my fanfic collection.
> 
> It's sort of a beginning, of sorts. But it will never be a chapter story. Maybe vignette-style series? I don't know yet, I have Old Stars to focus on right now. Hope you liked! Leave a kudo on your way out so I can see if the fandom is still alive!


End file.
